The Well of Eternity (17 page)

“An astonishing tale,” Korialstrasz murmured, looking and sounding even better. “I would have trouble believing it from any mouth but your own, my queen…”

“So your trust of him has faded?”

The eyes of the younger self met the eyes of the older. Even if Korialstrasz did not recognize himself, he must have recognized still the kindred spirit. “No…no, my trust has not faded. If you think he should be brought before the others…I must acquiesce.”

“Will you then fly with me?”

“But I am not one of the Five…I am merely me.”

The Queen of Life laughed lightly, a musical sound coming as it did from a dragon. “And thus you are as worthy as any of us.”

Korialstrasz was clearly flattered. “If I am as strong as I now feel, I will gladly fly at your side and stand before the other Aspects.”

“Thank you…that is all I ask.” She leaned forward and briefly nuzzled heads with him.

Krasus felt a peculiar jealousy. Here he was, watching himself be intimate with his mate, yet it was not him. He wished that for just one moment he could have changed places with Korialstrasz, that for just this one particular moment, he could be his true self again.

With a last lingering glance, the male turned and left the chamber. As the tip of Korialstrasz’s tail vanished into the passage, the mage suddenly felt light-headed. The weakness returned in a rush, causing him to teeter.

He would have fallen, but suddenly a massive, scaled appendage wrapped softly around him—Alexstrasza’s own tail come to his rescue.

“The two parts made whole…at least for a time.”

“I don’t—” His head swam.

“You felt much better in his presence, did you not?”

“Y-yes.”

“Would I were Nozdormu at this moment. He would understand this more. I think…I think that in the earthly realm, no creature can coexist with himself. I believe you and he, being one, draw off the same life force. When you are far from each other, you are halved, but when you are so very near, as just before, the draining is not so terrible. You help each other.”

Nestled safely, Krasus recovered enough to think over her words. “So that is why you requested him to come with.”

“Your story must be told and it will be told better if he is near. As to your unspoken question—why I did not reveal to him the truth—that is because of what may have to be done to salvage matters.”

Her tone grew grim as she said the last, verifying for Krasus his own suspicions. “You think it may come to the point where one of us must be removed from this period…even if that means
death.”

The leviathan nodded reluctantly. “I am afraid so, my love.”

“I accept the choice. I knew it from the beginning.”

“Then there is only one more matter to discuss before I reach out to the others…and that is what must be done with this other who came with you.”

Although inside he asked Rhonin to forgive him, Krasus did not hesitate to reply. “If it must be done, he will share my fate. He, too, has those he cares about. He would give his life for them.”

The Queen of Life nodded. “As I trusted your counsel when it came to you, so I trust your counsel when it comes to him. Should the other decide so, he will also be removed.” The dragon’s expression softened. “Know that I will be saddened by this forever.”

“Take no blame unto yourself, my queen, my heart.”

“I must contact the others. It would be best for you if you waited for me here. In this place you will find yourself not so weary.”

“I am honored, my queen.”

“Honored? You are my
consort.
I could do no less.”

With her tail she guided him to an area of the nest near the stream. Krasus settled into a natural depression that acted for him like a huge chair.

As the dragon queen moved to the passage, she paused and, with a trace of remorse, added, “I hope you will be comfortable among the eggs.”

“I will be careful not to touch any.” Krasus understood the value of any egg.

“I am certain you will, my love…especially knowing that they are yours.”

She left him wordless. As the crimson giant disappeared, Krasus glanced from one egg to another. As consort, he had, of course, bred with his mate. Many of his children had grown to adulthood, bringing pride to the flight.

He slammed his fist against the rock, ignoring the pain the foolish act sent through him. For all he had revealed to his beloved Alexstrasza, he had kept from her several important facts. Most immediate was the coming of the Burning Legion. Krasus feared that even his queen, wise as she was, would be tempted to play with history…and that might create a more horrifying disaster.

Yet, even worse than that, Krasus had been unable to tell her about the future of their own kind, a future in which only a few would survive…a future in which most of the hatchlings of this and successive clutches would perish before they ever had the opportunity to reach full maturity.

A future in which the Queen of Life herself would become a slave, her children the war dogs of a conquering race.

T
he felbeasts charged through the enchanted forest, their snouts raised high as the scent of magic increased. Their hunger and their mission urged them on, the huge hounds snarling their impatience.

But as one leapt over a fallen trunk, limbs from another tree nearby bent down and entangled its legs. A second felbeast racing along a path found its paws sinking into suddenly muddy earth. A third collided with a sprouting bush filled with razor-sharp brambles that pricked even the demon’s hard flesh and brought it immense agony.

The forest came alive, defending itself and its master. The charge of the five monsters faltered…but did not fail. Huge claws tore at the tangling branches, ripping them from trunks. Another felbeast aided the one trapped in the mire, dragging its comrade to solid ground before moving on. Hunger and fury enabled the one caught in the sharp brambles to burrow through even though it meant bleeding cuts everywhere.

The hunters would not be denied their prey…

“Shan’do! What is it?”

The demigod glanced down at his pupil, no recriminations in his fiery gaze. “The hounds of which you spoke…they have followed you here.”

“Followed? Impossible! There was only one left and it—”

Brox interrupted, his rumbling voice offering no comfort.

“The felbeasts…they are dark magic. Where there was one…there can be more if they’re able to feed well…this I saw…”

“A good friend and able guardian fell to one,” Cenarius commented, attention once more on the thick woods ahead of them. “He bore within him magic most ancient, most powerful. It only served to make him more susceptible to their evil.”

The orc nodded. “Then the one is now many.” Brox instinctively reached behind his back, but his beloved war ax did not await him there. “I’ve nothing to fight with.”

“You will be armed. Quickly find a fallen limb the length of your favored weapon. Malfurion, attend me.”

Brox swiftly did as commanded. He brought to the demigod and the night elf a massive branch, which Cenarius then had him place before Malfurion.

“Kneel before it, my student. You, too, warrior. Malfurion, place your hands upon the branch, then let him place his palms atop your hands.” When they had done this, the forest lord commanded, “Now, warrior, clear your mind of all but the weapon. Think
only
of it! Time is of the essence. Malfurion, you must open your mind and let his thoughts flow to yours. I will guide you more when that is done.”

The night elf did as he was told. He cleared his thoughts as his shan’do had early on taught him, then reached out to link himself to the orc.

Instantly a primal force bullied its way into his mind. Malfurion almost rejected it, but then calmed. He accepted Brox’s thoughts and let the image of what the warrior wanted take shape.

You see the weapon, my student?
came Cenarius’s voice.
You sense the feel of it, the lines of its forming?

Malfurion did. He also felt the orc’s relationship to the weapon, how it was more than simply a tool, but also a true extension of the warrior.

Guide your hands over the wood, ever keeping the image in your head. Follow the natural grain and turn it to the shape desired…

With Brox’s hands atop his own, the night elf began running his fingers along the branch. As he did, he felt it soften at his touch, then shift in form.

And under his guidance materialized a thick-bladed ax composed entirely of oak. Malfurion watched it shape, felt the satisfaction of creating a good solid weapon like the one he had lost when captured by the night elves—

He tensed. Those were the
orc’s
emotions, not his. Quickly thrusting them back, Malfurion concentrated on the final bits—curvature of the handle, the sharpness of the blade.

The task is done,
interjected Cenarius.
Return to me…

The night elf and the orc pulled away. For a brief moment, they stared into each other’s eyes. Malfurion wondered if Brox had experienced some of his own thoughts, but the green-skinned creature gave no hint of such a thing happening.

Between them lay a smoothly polished re-creation of that which Brox desired, though even the night elf wondered how the weapon could last more than one or two strikes.

In answer, the forest lord extended his hands—and suddenly the ax lay across them. Cenarius studied the weapon with his golden eyes.

“Let it always swing true, always protect its master. Let it be wielded well for the cause of life and justice. Let it add to the strength of its master and, in turn, let him strengthen it.”

And as he spoke, a blue radiance surrounded the ax. The light sank into the wood, adding a sheen to Malfurion’s creation.

The demigod offered the ax to the orc. “It is yours. It will serve you well.”

Eyes wide, the graying orc took the gift, then swung it back and forth, testing the quality. “The balance…perfect! The feel…like a part of my arm! But it will crack—”

“No,” interjected the forest lord. “In addition to Malfurion’s work, it now has my blessing. You’ll find it stronger than any mortal-forged ax. You may trust me on that.”

As for the night elf, he did not reach for a weapon nor did he desire one such as Brox now carried. Despite knowing that the demonic beasts fed off of magic and sorcery, he still understood that his chances were better with spells than with some weapon with which he had only moderate skill. He already had some ideas as to how to use his talent without it becoming the cause of his defeat.

And so the three faced the coming foe.

The nightmares of Rhonin’s recent past had come back to haunt him, but now they did so in the flesh. Felbeasts, the harbingers of the Burning Legion, were already here in the mortal plane. Could the endless ranks of horned, fiery demon warriors be far behind?

Krasus had put into the red-haired wizard’s mind the fear of what would happen if either interacted more with the past. What might seem a victory could spell the end of the future as they knew it. To best preserve the lives of those he loved, it behooved Rhonin to do nothing at all.

But as the first felbeast leapt into the glade, such noble notions instantly vanished from his thoughts.

Thunder crashed around the demigod as he stepped up to meet the felbeasts. His stomping hooves shook the ground and even caused the earth to crack open slightly. He swung his hands together and lightning flashed as they met.

And from those hands, Cenarius unleashed what seemed a miniature sun at the foremost demon. Perhaps the demigod only tested his adversary or somehow underestimated the resilience of it, for the felbeast thrust forth both tentacles and, instead of the sunburst striking dead its target…the demon’s hungry appendages
absorbed
Cenarius’s spell with ease.

The felbeast hesitated, shimmered…and suddenly, where there had been one, there were now two.

They leapt upon the stag lord, clawing at him and trying to drain him of his great magic. With one hand Cenarius held the first at bay, the demon wriggling madly and snapping at the arm that kept him high in the air. But the other clamped itself onto his shoulder, the tentacles seeking the demigod’s flesh. The three combatants fell back in a frenzy of movement.

They never did that!
Rhonin himself had not faced felbeasts, but he had studied their corpses and read all the information gathered about them. He had heard the few rare tales of the hounds multiplying themselves, but only after gorging on magic and even then the process had been said to be slow, difficult.
It must be the ancient magic that the demigod and the forest itself wield…it’s so rich and powerful that the creatures are made even more terrible by it…

He shivered, knowing that magic had always been his best tool. He could fight by hand, yes, but he had no weapon and doubted that Cenarius could give him one now. Besides, against these creatures, his skill with a sword would be more than lacking. Rhonin needed his magic.

When Cenarius had first brought Krasus and him to the ring, Rhonin had found himself unable to cast any spell. The forest lord had placed an enchantment on his mind, keeping the might of both his “guests” in check. However, Rhonin had felt that enchantment removed from him the second that Cenarius had realized the danger to them all. The demigod meant no true harm to the wizard; he had acted only out of concern for his forest and his world.

But even if he disobeyed Krasus’s recommendation, Rhonin wondered just how much good having his powers back would do him. Surely the demons would be most eager for his magic, just as they had hungered for the magic of so many wizards sucked dry in the future war against the legion.

The felbeasts pressed their foes, in the process drawing nearer and nearer to Rhonin. His hands curled into fists and words of power stood ready on his tongue.

And yet…still he did nothing.

As Cenarius and the twin felbeasts met, two more charged at Brox. The huge warrior met the creatures head on with a war cry that made one demon falter slightly. The orc used that hesitation to his advantage, swinging hard at his adversary.

The enchanted ax buried itself deep in the forepaw of the felbeast, severing three clawed toes as easily as if the orc had cut through air. The foul greenish fluid that passed for blood in many of the demons spilled over the grass, burning the blades like acid.

The injured felbeast let out a yelp and stumbled to the side, but its comrade continued its charge, throwing itself upon the orc. Brox, trying to recover from his swing, barely saved himself by using the bottom end of the ax shaft. He drove the end into the chest of the leaping behemoth.

A monstrous gasp escaped the felbeast, but did little to slow its momentum. It fell upon Brox, nearly crushing him under its massive form.

As for the night elf, the monster he faced eagerly reached for him with its vampiric tentacles. Malfurion concentrated, trying to think as Cenarius would think, drawing upon what he had learned from the demigod about seeing nature as both his weapon and his comrade.

Recalling the demigod’s own arrival, Malfurion created from the ever-present wind a roaring twister that immediately surrounded the monstrous felbeast. The sinewy, gaping tentacles swung wildly about, seeking the magic, but Malfurion’s spell had accented only the inherent forces of the wind and so the demon found little upon which to drain.

With a wave of his right hand, the night elf then asked of the surrounding trees the gift of whatever spare leaves they had to offer. He sought the strongest only, but he needed them in great numbers and quickly.

And from the crowns of the towering guardians descended hundreds, whatever each could give. Malfurion immediately used another breeze to guide the leaves toward the whirlwind.

Within it, the felbeast pushed forward, relentlessly closing on its intended prey. The twister matched each determined step, ever keeping the demon at its center.

The leaves poured into the whirlwind, spinning around faster and faster and increasing in number rapidly. At first the felbeast paid them no mind, for what were a few bits of refuse in the wind to a powerful fiend, but then the first sharp edge of a leaf sliced across its muzzle, drawing blood.

The enraged demon batted at the offending leaf, only to have several more cut it successively on its paw, its legs, and its torso. The wind now a hundred times more intense, the sharp edges of each soaring leaf became like well-honed blades, cutting and slashing wherever they touched the felbeast. Greenish ooze spilled over the demon’s body, drenching its hide and even obscuring its vision.

Cenarius and the beasts who had attacked him now fought far from the rest. The cries of the demons were well matched by the majestic roar of the forest lord. He seized the foreleg of the felbeast that had attached itself to him and with a single twist snapped the bone. The demon howled and its tentacles released their hold, flailing about in response to its pain.

Momentarily rid of one menace, Cenarius focused on the other. His countenance took on a dark wonder and his eyes blazed in fury. Suddenly, there burst from them a spark of light that enveloped the demon held at bay. The slavering creature’s tentacles greedily sought that light, drinking it in eagerly and wanting even more.

But this was not a wizard or sorcerer from which it sought to siphon magic. Now surrounded by a fearsome blue aura, Cenarius pressed with his attack, feeding his foe and giving it what it desired…but much too quickly and in abundance so great that even the demon could not take it all in.

The felbeast swelled, blowing up like a quickly filled water sack. Briefly it seemed as if about to divide…but the forces already ingested by it were more than it could handle.

The monstrous hound
exploded,
gobbets of stench-ridden flesh raining down upon the glade.

Thus far, Rhonin had been fortunate. No felbeast had come for him. He remained at the center of the ring, hoping that its power would keep him from having to decide whether or not to use his own abilities.

Rhonin watched Brox fend off the creature that had nearly crushed the orc. The veteran warrior appeared to have his struggle well in hand despite two foes. But as he continued to observe Brox, a terrible notion filled the human mage. If he and Krasus could not be returned to their time, Rhonin had understood that it might be best if both were slain quickly, the sooner to prevent whatever further alterations they might make to history. What neither had counted on, however, was a single orc warrior also being thrown into this era.

And as he stared at Brox’s back, Rhonin began to contemplate a different sort of spell. In the midst of the struggle, it might go unnoticed by the others and would eliminate another danger to the timeline. Krasus would have told him he was making the right decision, that, more than even the demons, Brox was a danger to the very existence of the world.

But his hand faltered, the spell forming in his mind pushed back into the darkest recesses. Rhonin felt ashamed. Brox’s people had become valuable allies and this orc now fought to save not only himself but others,
including
the wizard.